Red T-Shirt

“Do we have a red T-shirt anywhere?” Zen Master asked dourly, as he wandered from my closet to his closet, and then into Zen Mum’s closet.

“I think we have a red T-shirt somewhere.” I watched as he came out of the closet and started rummaging through his drawers. “What do you need a red shirt for?”

Zen Master doesn’t wear red.

“I have to wear something red to work for Valentine’s Day.” His words were muffled as he went down on hands and knees and peeked under the bed to pull out a drawer from underneath. “Nonsense. Nothing but a bunch of hooey.”

“Aw, isn’t that cute?” Zen Master was the only male in the all-women kitchen crew at the public school that he worked in.

“No,” he snarked as he finished going through the drawer and stuck it back underneath the bed. “This is complete crap! Valentine’s Day should be for other people. Why do I have to wear red? I don’t even like red!”

“Well, it’ll match your face right now.” I murmured and got an evil glare from him.

“Here’s my shirt that you can wear.” Zen Mum came in, holding up her burgurdy T-shirt. “I don’t have to wear red.”